


Karma

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: Sherlock and Mycroft Fluff [21]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Frustrated Greg, Frustrated John, M/M, Naughty Mycroft, Naughty Sherlock, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 03:06:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6548152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock does something a bit not good. In frustration, John spanks him. That's bad enough,  but Mycroft knows and comes to gloat. Mycroft gets more than he bargains for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Karma

**Author's Note:**

> We were asked to mark this as non-con, but we don't see it. There is spanking without negotiations, but either spankee would have stopped it at any point if they had wanted to. If you see that as domestic violence, don't read it.
> 
> Oh, and you better not watch the classic movie, The Quiet Man, either.

John set the paper he was reading aside when he heard Sherlock's single, quiet 'oops' come from the kitchen. When acids and flames were involved in one of the madman's experiments, 'oops' was not good. Flames gushed out of the kitchen and John picked up the fire extinguisher he had placed beside his chair for this very reason. Moments later, the fire was out, but there was a spectacular new hole in the centre of the kitchen table.

“Sherlock Holmes, that is the third table this month that you've completely ruined.” John dropped the extinguisher with a thump. “And look at the ceiling!” It was black with smoke. “I'm not going to be the one to tell Mrs. Hudson about it this time.”

“John,” he pouted. “She hits me with her handbag when I tell her these things.”

“Good. It's exactly what you deserve!”

“She doesn't hit you,” he countered.

John brought his left hand up and jabbed a single finger in the air towards Sherlock. “You. Downstairs. Tell her. Now.”

“Nope,” the detective said, popping the p. He sauntered around the doctor and opened a window to let the smoke out, then he whirled around and looked at John with his arms crossed over his chest. Sherlock was wearing his most insolent of smiles. “And you can't make me.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “You are pushing my patience to new limits.”

He shrugged. “That's not my problem.”

“It is now.”

Before Sherlock knew what was happening, he was over John's lap. The doctor's hand came down on the detective's arse just once to get his attention.

“John!” Sherlock squawked. “What are you doing?”

“I'm giving you the spanking you deserve.”

“I'm not a child!”

“You bloody well act like one,” he countered letting his hand drop on Sherlock's dressing gown clad arse again and again. “Naughty 7 year olds get spankings for being spoilt brats.”

“But it hurts!”

“I'd say it hurts me more than it hurts you, but I'd be lying. Three tables. Count them, three!” Smack, smack, smack. “And the bloody ceiling. Again.” Smack. John got into a rhythm with each blow. “I'm enjoying this far more than I should.”

“Far more than I am!”

The next few blows were harder. Much harder. Sherlock whimpered, breaking off to chew at his lip until eventually... “Alright, alright, John!” He smacked the doctor's leg trying to make him stop.

“Alright what?” Smack.

“I'll go downstairs and tell Mrs. Hudson.”

John gave him one last smack. “Too right you will, and you'll do it now.” He let Sherlock up.

The detective looked at John reproachfully as he massaged his aching bum. “I'll be right back.”

“Oh no, no, no.” John was shaking his head as he stood too. “I'm coming with you. If I let you out of my sight you'll be out of the door in a flash and I won't see you for days.”

Sherlock's bottom lip popped out in what he would most definitely deny was a pout. “Mrs. Hudson!” he shouted as he went down the stairs.

John shook his head. Sherlock deserved getting hit twice with their landlady's handbag for that alone.

Mrs. Hudson opened the door, her handbag ready without needing to speak to the youngest of the three. “I heard the commotion,” she explained at the looks from the two younger men.

Sherlock eyed the handbag almost nervously. “But, you love me, Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock grinned at her. “No matter wh-”

She hit him with her handbag. “What was it this time?”

“Well, there might be a bit of soot on the kitchen ceiling.” He quailed under her glare. “Well, more than a bit, and the hole in the table is hardly noticeable.”

“The look on your doctor's face suggests otherwise, you little brat.”

The pout was back. “You never call me names. That's John's job.”

The blond clipped him on the back of the head.

“Well it's about time I started to,” she responded.

Sherlock's phone buzzed and he ignored it. It buzzed again.

“Would you check that?” he got from both sides.

Sighing, Sherlock pulled out his mobile and glanced at the screen. It was a text from Mycroft.

Can't you behave, brother-mine? - MH

The next message had a photo attached. Sherlock opened it. It was an image of him being spanked over John's lap. Sherlock turned on his heel after turning bright red and ran down the hall, up the stairs.

“What?” John asked after him, confused. He glanced at his own phone as it buzzed.

I'll be with you in 10 minutes - MH.

John didn't know whether to be amused or horrified. Hopefully, he wasn't about to disappear permanently. He smiled at Mrs. Hudson. “Mycroft's on his way over. That's why he ran. He's probably hiding in our room.”

She chuckled. “I'm sure you did what was necessary, dear,” she gave him a knowing wink and the doctor found himself blushing much like the detective had before his disappearance.

“Um, right.” He looked down at the floor, then up the stairs. “It's been nice knowing you. You know, just in case.”

Mrs. Hudson tittered, then closed her door, leaving John to climb the stairs to the flat.

“You really are acting like a child now,” John said loudly as he entered B. He took one look at their closed bedroom door and he knew the detective was on the other side. A shoulder barge later and he was in to find Sherlock on his side on the bed facing the back wall.

“Sod off!” Sherlock snapped at him, then he buried his head under his pillow.

“I don't know what your problem is. I'm the one getting sent off to Antarctica, that is, if I'm lucky.”

Sherlock's laugh was bitter he turned over to look at his lover. “He isn't coming to banish or kill you… no, he's coming here for the sole intention of being a smug arse.”

John started to say that Sherlock was wrong, of course Mycroft wouldn't do that, but he clamped his mouth shut. Of course he would - Mycroft was a lot like Sherlock that way.

“A far worse fate, don't you think?”

“Gees, thanks,” John complained. “Well, if you're sure, I suppose I'd better go out and put the kettle on.”

“You do that. Put Bailey's in his. Let's drug him to sleep.”

“Somehow, I don't think Bailey's would do it. Unless... You didn't drug the Bailey's?”

“No, John. I didn't drug the Bailey's.” Sherlock sounded extremely put out, as if it were the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard.

“You did, didn't you?!” John exclaimed. His boyfriend had protested far too much.

Sherlock frowned, but he couldn't lie to John, he never could. He sighed, nodded and closed his eyes.

John marched over to him and pulled him back out to the sitting room, straight over his lap. It was a struggle but he managed to pin him there. “If you're sure Mycroft's coming to gloat, he can bloody well walk in to this.”

At the sound of a cleared throat, John looked up. Mycroft was standing in the doorway, umbrella in hand and a pillow tucked under his arm.

“Oh, don't let me interrupt, Doctor Watson,” the elder Holmes said with just the barest hint of a smile. “I can make myself at home.” With that, he sat in Sherlock's chair.

Sherlock wriggled and fought back even harder now he knew his brother was in the flat. John managed to grab one arm, wedge it up his back and swung one leg over his to keep him from standing up.

When John's hand came down on his arse this time, Sherlock was determined to keep quiet, but it wasn't long before he was protesting. “Ow! John. Stop it. Ouch! I only drugged it a little bit.”

“How do you drug something a little bit?” John asked without pausing the spanking. “No more, Sherlock.” Smack. “No poisoned coffee, tea, beverages of any kind, food, toothpaste or anything else I might have left out.” Smack, smack, smack.

“John! Please!”

“Was that a please?” Mycroft asked, now looking more interested rather than amused.

“I think it was. Say it again, Sherlock.”

When he refused to, John brought his hand down sharply a few more times.

“Alright! Please.”

John let Sherlock up. The moment he was free, the detective threw himself down onto the sofa, not managing to hide his wince of pain.

Mycroft tossed him the pillow. “To help you sit more comfortably, brother-mine.”

Catching it in mid-air, Sherlock threw it directly into the fireplace across the room. “Sod off, Mycroft.”

“Well, that was rude,” the government official noted.

John chuckled.

“I don't know what you're laughing at,” Sherlock spat. “You thought he was coming to exile you.”

“I was hitting his baby brother, I am most surprised I'm still not.”

“Oh, Doctor Watson, if you were in the habit of hitting Sherlock, I wouldn't exile you.” Mycroft grinned at John wickedly. “I'd kill you. However, seeing as you were merely correcting his boorish behaviour, I give you my applause.”

“What?” Sherlock's head snapped over.

“I would like to ask if you will continue with such actions when he is being… how to put it? A brat.”

“I am not a brat. I am a high functioning sociopath who is frequently misunderstood.” Sherlock threw the Union Jack pillow at his brother for emphasis.

John looked at him crossly. “I should spank you again just for calling yourself that. You haven't pulled it out in years.”

Sherlock cowered back just at the thought.

“Three times in 20 minutes? That has to be a record, don't you think?” John thought aloud.

“I wouldn't say you were a high functioning sociopath, Sherlock,” Mycroft offered. “I'd call it high functioning brat.”

John covered his mouth, but couldn't hide his snort of amusement. “He's got you there, 'Lock.”

“It's too bad Gregory couldn't have seen it.” Mycroft chuckled to himself. “I'm certain he would have found it humorous.”

John raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “If I do it again, you could film it on your phone and send it to him?”

Sherlock leapt to his feet and headed towards the door. “No! I didn't do anything this time!” He moved so fast, he tripped over a stack of periodicals.

John was behind him in a second. “I said I should do it to you again for saying such utter bollocks about yourself.”

“But, you- you were joking.”

“Was I?”

Sherlock turned around. His eyes were wide with uncertainty. He looked at John, trying to deduce his intentions, but he couldn't do it. “I don't... Yes?”

The doctor grabbed him and pulled him over his lap as he sat on the sofa. Even he wasn't certain if he was teasing Sherlock or if he intended to do it. Either way Mycroft pulled out his phone and snapped a picture.

John just pushed his hand into the waistband of his trousers and felt the warm flesh beneath.

Sherlock turned his head and glared at his brother. “You didn't have to goad John into this. You could have sent Lestrade the photo you sent me.” He snapped his mouth shut at the warning squeeze he got on his bum.

Mycroft looked at the photo on his phone. “The quality wouldn't have been as good.”

Sherlock used his last resort. “What about that time John couldn't go to the conference in Birmingham because you caused a delay in traffic?”

“What?” John snapped, looking at the older Holmes.

“I didn't want you to go. He caused a lorry to overturn so you wouldn't have to, but he didn't do it for me, he did it so you could help on that case.”

John was looking dangerous now, his glare on Mycroft. He tipped Sherlock to the floor. “I have half a mind to throw you over my lap and send it to Greg.”

Sherlock grinned. “There was also the time he shut down the tube line between here and the clinic.”

John stood and took a step towards the elder Holmes, then he stopped himself. “Wait. I have a better idea.” He took out his phone and sent a quick text to Greg. “There. That should do it.”

Both Holmeses were frowning in clear confusion. It wasn't often Sherlock couldn't deduce the doctor and it had happened twice in the space of an hour. It also wasn't often Mycroft couldn't deduce, in fact this was the first time ever.

When John's phone rang he answered it quickly and stepped from the flat so the brothers couldn't hear him. When he stepped back in, he looked incredibly smug.

Mycroft stood. “I'll just be going, shall I?”

“Nope.” John grinned. “Greg's on his way. It would be an incredibly bad idea to leave right now.”

“But I-”

“Sit. Down. Mycroft.”

The elder Holmes actually obeyed as if he didn't realise he was doing it. “John…” he cleared his throat but didn't know what else to say.

The next 15 minutes passed in awkward silence. Mycroft kept sneaking looks at John. Sherlock kept looking from his brother to John. The doctor... he picked up a book and read. It wasn't until they all heard footsteps on the stairs, that anyone spoke.

“Did you say it was safe to go out the window, 'Lock?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock looked over at him and then at said window. “It is if your car is the other side.”

“Damn.” Mycroft had stood and was heading towards Sherlock's bedroom, not the bedroom, the fire escape that was off its window.

Greg called out, “I know you're not running away like your brother!” A moment later he stepped into the room, his face cross.

“No, Gregory, of course not,” Mycroft replied, defeated.

“Then go back in there,” he ordered, pointing through to the chairs.

Sherlock didn't dare look at his own boyfriend, let alone Mycroft's, and neither did the government official, the both of them staring at the floor instead.

“John,” Greg said. “I've been thinking. Remember that time I was supposed to fly to New York to testify in the Miller case? My plane was grounded and all flights out were fully booked. Nothing became available until the trial was over and I never had to leave the country. I wonder now...”

“They still went down!” Mycroft protested.

“For 15 years rather than 30.”

Mycroft couldn't argue that. He turned on his little brother. “Have you any idea how annoying you are? Brat.”

Sherlock was the picture of wronged innocence. “I'm not the one that plays with traffic lights and airplanes like they're my personal toys.”

“And the tube!” John interjected. “Don't forget the tube!”

“I doubt Gavin will forget the tube,” Sherlock commented.

The DI looked over in time to see John's hand whack the back of the detective's head.

“Sorry. Greg,” Sherlock amended, biting his lip.

Greg laughed. “If you did that every time, the issue would be averted within days.”

Mycroft looked at his watch. “Dear me, I really do need to be going.” He made for the door, only to find himself hefted over Greg's shoulder.

“What?!” He actually squeaked as he was thrown down onto the sofa.

“I'm assuming you would like to watch this John?” He asked as he pulled the government official over his lap, trapping him in a similar way to which John had done with Sherlock.

The doctor crossed his arms and sat back, nodding. “Yes. I thought he was supposed to be the well behaved one. I suppose I was wrong.”

Greg snorted. “He's just sneakier about it.”

“Well, next time, I'm going to do it without my little shit of a brother knowing.”

Greg landed his hand down on Mycroft's suit clad arse. “You will not!” He dropped his hand again, “and you're getting twice as many.”

“Why?”

“7 year old boys aren't allowed to say naughty words.”

Sherlock bit his lip to keep from laughing. He was delighted to see the tables turned on Mycroft and didn't want to risk bringing attention back to himself.

Greg's hand came down repeatedly. “I want to hear you say 'I'm not allowed to play with the transportation system.'“ Smack.

“I can't!” Mycroft yelled out, still struggling.

“Why not?”

“I don't lie unless it's to do with work and I certainly don't lie to you, Gregory.”

“A lie by omission,” smack, “is still a lie.” Smack, smack. “And the operative word was 'play', you git, so say it.”

Mycroft squirmed under the rain of blows. “Ow! Gregory!” Hand after hand fell until, first the fighting stopped and then he dropped his head to the younger man's leg. “Alright!”

“Say it,” Greg repeated, still letting his hand fall repeatedly.

Mycroft huffed, then mumbled, “I am not allowed to play with the transportation system.”

“Louder, where we all can hear it,” Greg demanded.

“I am not allowed to play with the transportation system!”

It was then that Sherlock did laugh. He laughed so hard he started coughing. “The British Government just got spanked by a copper!”

John started to say something cross, but, dammit all, it was funny. He started giggling. “Yes, he did.” John laughed so hard he rolled onto the floor, pulling Sherlock down with him. “And I forgot to take a photo!”

“Good,” the eldest grumbled.

“Oh, Myc,” Sherlock chuckled. “You had the cheek to come over here and be a smug bastard. It's only karma.”


End file.
